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LITTLH PUCE 



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VERSE AND PROSE. 



By QUILP, Jr. 



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NORFOLK, VA. : 

PRINTED AT THE OFFICE OF THE 'NORFOLK VIRGINIAN. 
1868. 



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VERSE AND PROSE. 



By QUILP, Jr. 



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NORFOLK, VA.: 

PRINTED AT THE OFFICE OF THE "NORFOLK VIRGINIAN. 

1868. 



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' NORFOLK, VIRGINIA, 

Tins PAMPHLET 
Is inscribed, as a slight testimonial of regard. 

From 

HIS YOU N a V K I E N D, 

and 

Sincere well-wisher, 

THE AUTIIOB. 

Norfolk, Va., May 1, 1868. 



PREFACE. 



Knowing within myself the manner and occasion of the publica- 
tion of these " Little Pieces," it is not without feelings of regret 
that I offer them to the Norfolk public. 

What I mean by manner, will be readily perceived by the reader, 
who cannot tail to discover great inexperience, immaturity, and 
every error denoting a feverish essay, rather than its accomplish- 
ment. What I would signify by occasion must remain ua8&- 
plained, as its definition would touch a sad note even in disinter- 
ested hearts, all to no purpose. 

Most of the pieces embraced in this collection, written in inter- 
vals, during the last two or three years, have appeared from time 
to time, in periodical publications. 

The rhymes are all unstudied — evoked by some incident of the 
hour — and may find easier way to the heart than had they been 
premeditated. 

With these preliminary remarks I will bid the reader farewell, 
and leave my little work to its fate — to speak for itself 

QuiLP, Jr. 
Norfolk, Va., May 1, 1868. 



" The Pamphlet Advertiser," printed at the head of each page, 
was done by mistake, and discovered after several forms had been 
worked off, too late to be rectified. 



THE PAMPHLET ADVEKTISER. 



THE MANIAC'S DREAM. 

I dreamed a terrible dream. So dark, 
So drear was tlie scene! Not a glimmering spark 
Of light was there; 
And the chill air 
Was foul and heavy and cold! 
A spectre! — uprising so grim and so gaunt, 
Loomed frightfully plain to my vision — to daunt 
My spirit once so bold, 
But now no more forever! 
Though it was erst, 
Ere I was cursed — 
Damned — and forever ! 
"Ah! never," quoth the horrid ghost, 
"Shall you join the angelic host! 
And this darkness circling round you, 
And these words that thus astound you, 
But shadow thy doom. 
Aye, pregnant with gloom 
Was thy morning of life; 
But the surging strife 
Of that morn is done, 
And eve's — eve's darkest shades — 
■Reflected from the infernal glades — 

And thy faint, young sun 
(Jf life, by them obscured, will soon 
Forever sink, and a flaming moon 
Will glare upon you in eternity. 
And that di'ead morrow. 
Of endless sorrow. 
Be blacker still; and woe is me! 
Must I speak it? Alas! the stern decree 
That bids me tell! Then mark it well — 
You'll dream again, and awake — in heltJ 
There aw^aits you a day — 
For what? you say — 
For sins! — who shall dare to utter nay?- 
For the sins of your sires, 
Who now blaze, mid the fires 
Of Hell!" 



THE PAJflMILF/r ADVERTLSKK. 



NOBS AND SNOBS, On, A PEEP AT SOCIETY. 

Ever since the world iH'nan, there have been, ami to the end of 
the chapter there will be, two gToat parties contcndino- for sii])reni- 
acy in worldly alfairs. In the zenith of Home's power, they were 
known as Patricians and Plebians. In modern times they have 
contended nnder the ntimes of Aristocrats and Parveiuis, the bov 
ton and the canaiUc, and in these latter days, com})rising- the sam(> 
class, they have dwindled down to the cant terms, Nobs and Snobs, 
"long-horns" and ''short-horns.'' The Nobs, as they ever have been, 
are in the minority, bnt they have the "charms metalic" which add 
greatly to their weight; the Snobs have the nnmerical [)repondency, 
but they lack the persuasive magnetic "charms," which is a ])rodi- 
gious draw back to their success for place and power. In this 
country there is bnt one step from Snob-doni to AvO-dom. As soon 
as a Snob accumnlates a little property he swells up into a Nob and 
consorting with his brother Nobs, he looks down with supi'eme con- 
tempt u})on his former station, and Snobbish associat(»s. 

He is a buttertly emerging from his chrysalis state, a flower t-x- 
panding into bloom from a sickly l)ud. With us any one can sec 
these two characters, at any time on any of our })i-incij)al streets. 
And it is anni-^ing to observe "the hanimals" in their natural (per- 
hajts luniatural would fit better) state, and assumed aire of impor- 
tance, as they pass along in their daily intercourse with tlie world. 
Take a stand on jNIain street — 'Hall's corner' — National Hotel cor- 
ner, or at any j)oint on said street about 12 M. and twig the gentry 
— the 'nol),' the 'snob,' the 'long-horn,' the 'short-horn,' and the 
superfluous man. Hush, shew. Here comes a swell, a native 
puffed up nob. View his exterior and mark his peculiarities; he 
struts as if lie had the world in gear; he cocks up his head, as 
brazen as a Napoleon howitzer ; he snuffs the air, with tjie pride of 
a race-horse. Common people, or snobs, short-horns, or "poor white 
folks," he scarcely deigns to notice; but with the Avciilthy classes he 
is all subserviency; they are to him the lords of the land. Noan^ 
inquire the history of this ?io6: take a cursory glance "adown the 
vista" of his pedigree. Perchance a "bird's eye view" will satiate; 
your incjuisitorial propensity in the regard. 



THE PAMPHLET ADVERTISER. 7 

A few years since you will probably learn he was sitting on a 
bench, a la Turk, plying the busy needle, and nietamorplu)sing broad 
cloth into the "latest cut," lor some "buck," — "somebody's dar- 
ling" — who was thcji on the top ladder of society, but has since 
descended into the obscurity of snobdoin, while he, the "man- 
maker," has expanded into a prosperous gent and a full blown nob. 
Or possibly it may be, he was for many years dealer in "leather 
and prunella," and spent his valuable time in toiling for the sake 
of other people's "soles;" industry at last meets its reward, and 
from the confined shoj), redolent with the fumes of ox hide, he 
emerges into the man of means and the self-created nob. Prol^ably 
he has been elected to the city select and common council, (called 
by some, I understand, "common scoundrels,") or to some other 
prominent office, and here the highest ambition of his life is at- 
tained; fortune can add no more laurels to his brow; the acme of 
life's happiness is reached; to hold public office and be on familiar 
terms with the "elite" and those "clothed with a little brief au- 
thority," what more has he to achieve on earth? All that remains 
lor him to do is to lie down quietly and die, and be gathered to the 
"jhome of his fathers," in a fashionable marble mausoleum. 

There is another class <>f n(>l)s who l)oastof their blood and "gen- 
tle" lineage. Their greatest jiride and vain-glorious boast is, that 
their forefathers never demeaned themselves by manual labor. 
This "sect," bending to the progress of the age, is fast dying out, 
but tliei'e are still a few rejiresentatives left among us. They are 
"rara avis," excliLsive in their habits, and not at all migratory. 
Their chief aim Ls to support themselves by government pap, city 
pap, or on the revenue of their unimproved estates; too proud to 
work, they have no objection to living upon the labor of the peo- 
ple, whom they at the same time undisguisedly despise. A few 
years more, and this class, thank God! will be defunct and forgot- 
t<Mi — })layed out with their old fogy ism — never to be resin-rected. 

Let us now take a look at S(5me of the unwashed snobs. They 
are as plentiful as blackbirds in an oat-field, (the market is over- 
stocked,) and, like blackbirds, when you see one you see the whole 
flock. They are generally of a levelling order, that is they would 
exalt themselves to places of trust and jjower, by levelling down 
and turning out of office men of worth and capacity for no better 
reason than that of their being classed as aristocrats, or "nobs," or "long 



8 THE PAMPin.ET ADVERTISER. 

lioriis." This is the paramount object of their lives. To eft'eet 
this object they band theinsclves togetlier by secret associations and 
ties, and their rallying cry is "God help the poor (or snob) and 
down with the rich (or nob.") They are continually har]iing on 
ecpiality, freeman's rights, justice to working men, etc., while many 
of them at heart are the most intolerant bigots, and if they had the 
{)()wer would make tlie veriest upstarts in the world. At elections 
they generally have their candidates in the field, and if they can 
harmonize together they usually succeed in their pur})()ses; but 
there is an clement of selfishness abroad among them, each snob 
having in contemplation the "loaves and tishcs" that germinates 
discord and ill-fccliug that freipu'ntly ])alsies their bodies ])()liticand 
eventuates in their defeat. Jt is nuich better for a community to 
have a nob at the head of its nuuiicipal atl'airs than a snob, where 
the only choice is one or the other — but there is an intermediate 
body between- the two more preferable than either, and forming a 
class who are the real gentleman and sovereigns of the land. 

Free from the sickening ail's and assumption of Nobism or the 
low and grovelling disposition of Snobism, they pursue the "even 
tenor" of their May, are modest and unobtrusive in manners, sociable 
and charitable in character, and honorable and noble in nature. This 
is the class of men for "our money." They make the best civil 
officers, citizens and purest Christians that we have. Thank heaven I 
there are still numbei-s of this type of "old A'irginia geutlemen" in 
our city — men, who if descended from distinguished ancestry, do 
houoi" to their de])arte<l sires — and if of humble origin, reflect no 
less honor u])on their family-tree by not being ashamed to acknow- 
ledge their fathers, or in owning that they arc tailors, shoemakers 
or carpentei*s, and that they made their fortunes by plying the busy 
needle, the awl, or the jack-plain. From this class of citizens should 
be selected our civil officers — our mayor, magistrates, councilmen, 
&c. They are good men and true, impartial in their decisions of 
sound judgment, not to l)e intimidated by j)arty clamor, bribed by 
strict influences or sordid motives. 

\\ hen we get back into the Union, and receive absolution of our 
late greatest sin — Faii>uee — let us look to such men as these; and 
if we play the auxiliary in the drama of social and industrial life 
as stoutly and admirably as we did on the field of battle, the myr- 
tle wreath will encircle our brows, success ])rove inevitable, and 
eternity itself will pronounce us great! 



THE PAMPULET A.DVERTISEK. 



HER EYES 



RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED TO MISS S. W...., NORFOLK. 



There's meaning in her liquid eyes, 

Far more than tongue ean tell ; 
The deepest beauty in them lies, 
More radiant e'en than Orient skies, 
Softer than twilight's mellow dyes, 
On ocean's gentle swell. 

The star that smiles first on the night, 
All tremulous with heavenly light, 
Is not so delicately bright. 

As the fair orb — my theme — 
Whose praise an humble bard doth sing, 
As through Rhyme-regions wandering, 
He homage does the " lovely thing," 

Soft as an angel's dream. 

The graceful lashes, long and jet. 

That shade those beautiful eyes. 
And full twin bi'ow — I see them yet. 
Their beauty I ma}' ne'er forget ; 
Ah ! would that they had never met 
My gaze, to start one sad regret — 
Too many heart-born sighs. 

Down in the depths of those dark eyes, 
I see all that we mostly prize — 
A heart all big with charities; 

All kind — all true — divine! 
Ripe with every holy feeling — 
Nature's loftiest aim revealing: 
Oh ! the strangeness o'er me stealing, 

Beautiful eyes — I'm thine! 



JO THE PAMPHLET ADVERTIKEK. 

ID KA 1 IIKK II KA \l II K\l SI \(J 



INSCUIUKI) TO i\ll88 ****** ****_ 



1 like to <:;o to inirtiess, 

And 1 like to go to balls, 
To revel in the goi'i>,eous sheen 

Of Pleasnre's gikled halls; 
T like to go to operas, 

Jn Winter, Fall, or .Spring, 
Jiut oh! I'd rather go to Chureh 

To hear my lassie sing. 

I like to go to itienies, 

To Hoat upon the Jiav, 
To listen to the melody 

Ol' white-eapped, dashing spray ; 
1 like to hear the matin notes 

Of little birds in Spring- 
But oh! I'd rather go to Chureh 

To hear my lassie sing. 

Her voire is rich and mellow, 

Sonorous, sweet and clear, 
Ami every soft and silvery note 

(iocs pealing through tlie air. 
I knoNV they are re-echoed 

P>y cherubs on the wing. 
And wafted to the heaven — 

( )li ! I like to hear her sing. 

1 like to hear tlu; preacher 

Expound the Word of Truth, 
And tell of heaven-lit regions 

Where gush the founts of youth. 
1 like to hear the holy bells 

Their happy anthems ring — 
I>nt, oh I \'<\ rather go to Church 

To hcai" my lassie^ sing. 

^o; 1 am not very pious. 

Nor am J very bad, 
1 am not very merry. 

And y(!t not very sad — 
I'm but a middling creature. 

Am neither serf nor king; 
And rather than a monarch be 

I'd hear my lassie sing. 



THE PAMPHT.ET ADVERTISKTl. 



SHE IS DEAD! 

She is dead ! 
Not wrapt within the cold grave's gloom ; 
The chill winds weep not o'er her tomb, 

Nor reqnicms sing, 

On mystic wing, 
In mournful cadence — quick and keen — 
Above the drear December scene. 

Yes, she's dead ! 
And yet the dismal "house of clay" 
Hides not her "glowing form" away ; 

Nor dims her eye 

Nor stills the sigh 
She breathes anon, when she doth brood 
O'er days by-gone, in pensive mood. 

She is dead ! 
Xor hashed the ricli and mellow notes 
Of her sweet voice, which, as it floats 

U|)on the air, 

Enchains the ear ; 
She smiles as gently, brightly yet 
As on the eve when iirst we met. 

Ay, she's dead! 
Dead even as the dead to me ; 
But she lives, like them, in memory! 

Gone ! not from thee ! 

Only from me ; 
Tho' Fate hath severed us forever 
Tenderly is she loved — as ever ! 

She is dc^ad ! 
Though full of life and youthful bloom, 
To ONE she is a living tomb ! 

Robed not in clay. 

Yet pure as they — 
Tlie winged ones— beyond the sky 
Who are throned in immortality I 



12 THE PAMPHLET ADVERTISER. 



TO MISS 



Somothiiijj: moves nie, and what it is, 

Ah! swoct >;irl, I can't divine, 

Like by an unseen s})irit moved — 

Led towards that soul of tiiine. 

I know not the wherefore, nay — and yet 

E'er will I cherish the day we met. 

Somf^thinu: whispers — "Beware thy fate ! 
If thou would'st have her friend of thine 
Never i»;ive her cause to hatt> — 
Cast olf thy love — ^Jind not re])ine. 
Let her not see thy hosom swell. 
And ibr htr flash bright thine eye; 
In secret, if thou wilt, love on 
Right mani'ullv, but — *'f/o not ery T' 

(Echo answers,'— "Not 1 1" 
Lay on ! ! 

LOVE. 



TO MISS 



Love! how pleasingly strange to love! 

LTnceasinglv love, and feel 
Content in the soft beams of bright eyes, 

In the rays that sorrows lieul ; 
E'en our crushing blights disj)el. 

Vestal joys instead, make tlow, 
Like sweet music's rise and swell — 

Enchaining, 'till we scarce can part. 

Enchaining sold, and mind, and heart ! 

Whence, oh I Cupid, thy sway divine? 
Hast thou sent the magic dart — 
Mast thou — to my darling's heart? 

Oh! is she mine, say, is she mine? 
Last eve, I di-eamed, unto my breast 
Softly T drew her — and was blest! 
Tenderly kissed her brow, so fair, 
E'en kissed away a big, bright tear — 
A pearly symbol of esteem; 
Dearest, and is it all a dream? 



THE PAMPHLET ADVERTISER. 13 



MONEY ON THE BRAIN. 



DHDICATEl) TO " FORTUNE HUNTERS." 



In "bobbing- round" with ears and eyes, 

And mouth, also, extended, 
^I'here are many things below the skies — 

With h-U and heaven V)lended — 
That I have heard and 1 have seen, 

Prompting both pleasure and pain; 
But the most akin to li-ll, I ween, 

Is this " Money" on the brain.' 

In male or female — he or she — 

The malady's plutonic. 
And it is mailed of postage free, 

Or, to be more laconic, 
It emanates from Plutonian spheres, 

Where Pluto, himself, doth reign, 
Smiling at the victims it ensnares — 

This fell " Money " on the brain. 

Those who adore the " shining stuif," 

Am] hold it most supreme, 
Of " metal charms" they'll get enough — 

They are naught without esteem. 
And, oh I M"hen too late, they'll hnd 

'I'heir source of hitter pain ♦ 
Proceeds frotu a deluded mind — 

From this "Money" on the brain. 

Money hath charms, beyond a doubt, 

But what do they combine? 
Naught, nfforrrs, others without 

To deck your much-sought shrine. 
If true happiness you would find, 

A sv»'ect disposition gain, 
And with it a bright, cultured mind ; — 

Let not " Money " rack vour brain. 



14 Tin: r>AMPHLET advertiskr. 



WEIRD FOREBODINGS. 

"ris midniojilt, and my heart is sad, 
Sad as tho' 'twas never glad — 

Gloomy as the liour ; 
Dread silence hangs the scene around, 
So weird, so death-like and profound I 

And dark s])irits lower 
Upon me — whose mystic breath 
Brcatlies the incense dank of" Death ; 
And their shadows on the floor 
Speak damnation evermore 

To my soul ! 

The niighty winds are hushed and still, 
The air is thick, and damp, and chill; 

And memories ])ast 
Sink my s])irit — mirror dull years 
Of" sadness! loneliness and cares 

Yet to come — and last 
Forever! nay, close not with life, 
Hut, after it, renew the strife 
Witii added fury, in that clime 
Of" woe untold : lcf"t to Time 

In Hell, — my soul! 

Cold runs my Mood — J quake at the tho't ; 
Fell inspiration from Hades caught — 

Fresh from horrid Hell! 
Thus do I live on, pregnant with gloom, 
Waiting my })roj)hctie, fearful tloom. 

And, oh! none may tell 
The throbbings, quick and bitter pain 
That bend my form, that rack my brain. 

Alas! alas! it may be well 

O! Heart^O! Soul! 



THE PAMPHLET ADVERTISER. 15 



A LITTLE RUDE STONE. 



A little rude st(jue, 
With not a spot of beauty on it, 
Not a hue to grace or adorn it,— 

Ruop-ed and worn ! 



'&to^ 



And yet, to me, 
'Tis very dear ; and the brightest ray. 
That gilds at eve the dancing spray 

Of murni'iug sea. 

Is not as fair ; — 
And, oh! 'tis warmer prized, I ween, 
Than "gems of purest ray serene," 

That deck the hair 

Of majesty ; 
Of queens — or softly, brightly stem, 
In varied beauty, tlie dindcin 

Of pageantry. 

A simple gift — 
A silent token of true esteem, 
Real — not a vapory dream 

That doth but lift. 

To fell despair, 
Hopes, loves, aspiration — all 
Darkened as witli a funei-al j)all — 

Deadened and sere. 

No! it doth start 
My soul with ccstacy — for 'twas she, 
jNIy dearest friend, — who gave it me ; 

And we shall jiart 

Never! never! 
The little gift and 1, — for it will. 
As now, be cherished fondly still 

Forever ! 



16 THE PAMPHI.ET ADVPJliTlSER.. 



WHY SO SAD? 



"Why so sad, so cold, so dreary ?" 
Cold and dreary! Ah! I'm weary 

All of life. 
Yet I oonsolation borrow 
From the thoii^ht of that bright morrow, 
Wiien siiall cease the endless sorrow 

Of its strife. 

Aye, its winds are chill and biting, 
Chill and biting, damj) and blighting 

To my son I. 
Sombre shades are ever round me, 
Fell despair hath ever found mc. 
And a mystic gloom hatli bound me 

Weird and ghole! 

All the hopes I fondly cherished, 
Strangely clierishcd, all have jx-rished — 

All are dead ; 
Buried darkly, — and my sadness 
Untinged by one ray of gladness, 
Xears iis goal, — a very madness! 

Oh! the dread. 

Ask no more what makes me languish, 
Sadly languish , Oli ! the anguish, 

Xone may tell. 
But ere long I trust "the Giver 
Of all that's good" — "across the river," 
Will me of my woes deliver — 

Of this hell ! 

That I may rest mc "in the shade" — 
Sw^eetest shade for angels made, 

"'Neath the trees." 
In that elimo of untold pleasures. 
Where resound ten thousand measures — 
Softest cadence, 'mid the treasures, 

" 'Neath the trees." 



THE rAMi'IlI.ET ADVKRTISER. ^* 

NEVER MORE TO TAKE A SPREE. 

I ciin feel it slowly growing-, 

Overcoming by degrees, 
That bad spirit, which is SplrU, 
All the manhood I inherit 
From dame Nature ; and I merit 
Her displeasure; though I fear it,^ 

Yet I still will " get on sprees." 

'Tis a \Yeakncss — I will own it; 

One which ev'ry wild boy sees, 
But there is a si)irit in it — 
In that spirit, which doth "■ pin " it 
To the soul; and llo^y he'll "grin it"— 
All the censure that is in it ; — ^^ 

" Bear" it still and "get on sprees.' 

Does he love his gentle mother, 

Who for him doth bend the knee ; 
Praying that he be forgiven, 
Led into the path of heaven, 
From that fatal power riven 
Ere his soul to hell is driven,— 

(By that spirit) "on a spree?" 

Yes ! he loves her, dearly loves her, 

And he lifts her from her knees ; 
Wipes away the tears of sadness 
That have washed away her gladness, 
And, in strains of woeful madness, 
Promises to "stop his badness" — ^^ 

But he still "gets on his sprees." 

Curse the strange infatuation 

Of that spirit that doth please. 
Lure you into such a dreaming 
Of false fancies, deadly teeming, 
'Till the soul, with sorrow streaming, 
Si„lis_and then there's no redeeming— 

And we leave him to " his sprees." 

From this "jump," oh ! hear me Devil, 

I'll defy the all of Thee ; 
Once you had me in your power, 
But fair Lucille now rules the hour, 
And though dark clouds 'round me lower, 
For her dear sake, I swear it o'er — 

Never more to take a spree ! 
3 



18 THE PAMPHI>ET ADVERTISED. 



FAREWELL, SWEET GIRL. 

Farewell, s\ve(^t jrirl, a last tiirewell ! 

My course is f>'er the j)atliless sen, 
Though to a land I dare not tell, 

Where'er 1 go I'll think of thee. 
Nor will I tell wherefore 1 hie, 

Why east niysell'upon the wave 
That hears nie on, perehance, to die, 

'Mid foreign seenes to find a grave. 

With such a tale of dark despair 

I would not shoek thy youthful breast, 
My more than wretchedness to hear 

Would gri(!ve thy heart — disturb thy rest. 
I\lare not, cannot, will not tell ; 

I would not j)ain thy bosom so — 
I love thy fair, young brow too well , 

To cloud it with a talo of woe. 

Farewell! Fll never more return. 

Ne'er cla'^p again thy hand in mine, 
But still the dc])ths of memory's urn 

J5right thoughts of thee will e'er enshrine. 
Fve loved thee dearly and — so long — 

Adored thee ; yet thou knew'st it not — 
Tliou, theme of this, my humble song, 

Can'st never, never be forgot. 

Thy heart, dear girl, I could not woo; 

For all unworthy of its love, 
'J\j take it, call it mine, so true, 

W^ould anger e'en the God above. 
Too sad it is to link with thine 

This soul so very full of gloom — 
No; I must never call thee mine, 

For oh! too dark would be thy doom. 

Away I'll hie me; and the reason 

None on earth may ever know ; 
Ah ! old Winter's darkest season 

Was ne'er so dark as my young woe. 
Then fare-thee-well ! a last adieu — 

Oh! that anon one single breath 
Should sigh his name — the roaraer's, who 

Will love thee even unto death I 

Farewell i 



THE PAMPHI.iyr ADVERTLSEK. 19 



MATRIMONY IN IT8 OWN TRUE LIGHT. 

HoM often we iiear it said that he or she is iii love, aiul how 
often are they who say it in error. Now we do not believe in pla- 
tonic love on earth — the corrupt abode of man — but we do believe 
that true love is the godliest passion that sways the human bn^st, 
and' that "few and far between" are they who feel and appreciate 
such a sentiment. 

Love, so called, in eight cases out of ten, often tui'us out to be 
infjituation, low desire and the like, for certainly it can't be prop- 
erly applied in e\'cry case that wears a semblance, for "love is 
heaven, and heaven is love" — and it, alas! is not so common. A 
youn": nuin meets a pretty face at a hop, hops about w'ith it, calls it 
a Hebe, falls in love with it, courts it, marries it, goes house-keeping 
with it, and boasts of having a home and a wife to grace it. The 
chances arc sadly against him that he has neither. Her pretty face 
gets to be an old story, or becomes faded, or freckled, or fretted ; 
as the face was all he wanted, all he paid attention to, all he vis- 
ited, all he bargained for, all he swore to love and cherish, he grows 
sick of it; knows a dozen (not unfrequently a baker's dozen) faces 
which he likes better; gives up staying at home at "dewy eve;" 
consoles himself with cigars, bivalves and politics, and regards 
sweet home indifferently, and a sort of dernier resort, at best. A 
family of children, ere long, impale him, but neither he nor his 
"face" know anything about training them — so, like weeds, 
they spring up helter-skelter — made playthings of when babies, 
dolls wdien boys and girls, drudges when young men and women; 
and thus passes heavily year after year, and not a happy, quiet hour 
is known throughout the whole household. 

Another young man becomes enamoured of a fortune. He waits 
upon it to parties, dances the polka with it, goes into an interchange 
of compliments with it, exchanges billet doux with it, pops the 
question to it, gets "yes" from it, takes it to the pai"Son's, weds it, 
calls it wife, hurries it home, sets up an establishment with it, in- 
troducas it to his friends, and says (poor devil!) that he, too, is 
married and has a home. It is false I He is not married : he has 



20 TIIK PAMPHLET ADVERTISER. 

no lidiiic, IK) wile — only :i hit, a j>ioce of" one — and he soon finds it 
out. lie is in the ^\•l•on^• ])e\v ; but it is too kite to t«;et out of it. 
He might as well hope to eseape iVoni his gTavo. Friends congrat- 
ulate him in the most gracious manner, and he lias to grin and 
Ix'ar it. They jiraise the house, the f'nrniture, the ■wife, the cradle, 
and the new hahy, and tluni hid the "fortune," and he who husbands 
it, good morning, as if he had known a good morning since he and 
that gilded fortune were falsely declared to be one. 

Take another ca-se, and not the less frequent either. A young 
woman is smitten- with a pair of whiskers — cnrlcd hair never l)e- 
lore had sneh charms. She sets her cap for them; they take. The 
d(>lighted whiskers make an offer, prolfering themselves both in ex- 
change for one heart. Tlie noble-hearted miss, overcome with 
magnanimity, closes the bargain, carries home the ])ri7.e, shows it to 
pa and ma, calls herself I'ngaged to it ; thiid<s then* was never such a 
j)air of whiskei"s before, and never to be again ; and in a few weeks 
they are married. Married! Yes, the world calls it so — and we will. 
What is the ri'sult? A shoi't honey-moon, that shone even with 
• lim lustre, and the unlucky discovery that they arc uncongenial a.-^ 
cats and mice, and not to be made one, though all the priests in 
Christentlom ])ronounce them so. 

We tieem that the most consummate happiness allotted to man or 
woman, is connubial happines; at the same time, we think, that the 
most absolute wretchedness arises from an unfortunate alliance in 
matrimony. So you sec we are not opposed to manying :;s it should 
be, but opj)osed to it as it should not 1k\ 

Young man, marry — get you a wife. Do not love her merely 
for a ])retty eye, a pretty foot, a pretty rilibon, gracefully arranged, 
a false curl, or any one thing — look at her innate (pialities, and not 
exclusively at the su]>crficial charms of the exterior; love her for 
herself — all in all — feel that you have a wife — and not a bit and 
scrap of oni\ 

Young woiuan, marry. Fall not in love with a pair of whiskers, 
"a dear moustache," a ring studded with diamonds, an "eminent 
position," or a manly ap})earanee. Love him you would call your 
husband, for the brilliancy of his intellect, his moral worth, and 
his — manliness! Never marry but with love, nor love without 
rea."^on. 



THE VAMPHT.ET ADVP^RTISEB. 



1 CARE NOT F(m 01MKn)N. 

\\v ever been unfortunate; 

I am a child of woe — 
In every turn of niy young life 

Have sadly found it so. 
Alas! I've grown indiiferent — 

liegardless e'en of Fate ; 
And as to those who give nie scorn, 

In turn I give — not hate. 

Ill turn, 1 give them kindly smiles, 

Most wretched lips can feign ; 
'Tis niockery, yet 'tis better 

'riiam to give them hate again. 
1 reck not of their proud disdain, 

Nor low, couteniptuous air, 
I care not for their love nor hate— 

And, oh! why should I care? 

I'hcy, like the world, are worldly ; 

To them sensual life is dear ; 
To me 'tis all a ^'fleeting show"— 

All lonelv, dark, and drear. 
Hiey care not for my many wants, 

Breathe not a word of Hope — 
Phey revel in their selfishness — 

It hath the fullest scope. 

\A'.t them then condemn at will. 

Their liickerings are naught ; 
Fearlessly I'll hold my course. 

Though 'tis with danger fraught. 
What care they if I perish— 

Ah! would they shed a tear. 
Pause a moment at my humble grave, 

Or bi-cathe a sigh sincere? 

No! and strange as it may seem, 

I care not for opinion ; 
'Th all a bubble— but a dream- 

I ne'er shall be its minion! 
I'll steer my own course on the tide, 

The tur))id tide of Life. 
And whether doomed to sink or ride, 

I'll V)rave its utmost strife. 



1>! 



22 THK I'AMPHI.KT ADVERTISER. 



THE MASQUERAl^E. 

A (lo/.cMi lovely forms, 
Siiroudcd in as many j!;uisps, 

Fair impersonations — 
(( )i" j list ^ as many sizes) — 
()f' truth and Fiction — a mas(]uerade, 
Memories of whieli can nevei- fade. 

"Dixie" — that oodiless lair — 
l*ure as "fjost Cause" represented, 

Shone delicately hriuht 
As ^Southland — ere it relented; 
Ere War's d(>spoiling finji^er tore, 
The beauty oif that erst it wore. 

The "(J host of Albermarle" 
Clad in uarlt of snowy whiteness, 

Looked as L>jhosts pietural, 
\\ an and pale — devoid of hrightncss, 
But, ah! beneath that teionino- dress, 
Briijht beamed a form of loveliticss. 

The "Countess" beautiful ! 
Floatin*;- o;raee, and lofty bearing, 

Didst well become lier role. 
And won ])raises oft endearini>-; 
And in the terjisiehorean treat — 
The Queen "of many twinkling feet." 

Ah! in syl{)h-like empery. 
Sadly fair, "(Ophelia" dances, 

Her gem-foot transfixing, 
Ev'ry eye, whose brightest glances 
Concentrate in beauty's spell, 
U[)on the lady loved so well ! 

Tir "Wood Nymph" flower-decked, 
Sweet symbol of Flora's bowci's 

The meek and pensive "Xun," 
All — chased away the honrs, 
Until old Sol's first ray, serene, 
Stole in uj)on the happy scene. 

And now fair queens, farewell ! 
And, sir knights of chivalry ; 
We'll laud thy deeds and mien, 



THE PAMPHI.KT ADVERTISER. 2.*i 

As in old days of minstrelsy ; 
When ev'iy gallant deed wa.s sung, 
And praise Avent forth from ev'ry tongue. 

"Don (ivsar de Bazan," 
That bold and winning ehevalier — 

Tender, graceful, daring ! — 
fCnchained all ^^dlo gathered there ; 
"A coml)ination and form indeed," 
Of men, not seen, but of whom we read. 

An "ex-soldier of I^ec," 
A young brave in "rebel" attire — 

The dear "Jacket of Gray," 
That will e'er fond bosoms inspire. 
With undimmed hope and burning wdll, 
To dash to earth the TyranCsill. 

The "Continental!" bold! 
And the reckless, austere "Brigand," 

The "Cavalier and Duke," 
Looked Avell fitted for command ; 
And shoAved a softness for the fair, 
Known only to the debonair. 

And now, sir knights, farewell ! 
Ye host and hostess — all — adieu ! 

Though Ave ne'er meet again. 
Kind thoughts will mem'ry keej) for you ; 
Cherish sweet recollections made 
In one night at — "the Masquerade." 



LINES. 



(Prompted hy seeing Mr. , nodding in clmroli, 

in a reclining posture.) 

At church, in clothes not very new, 
And shoes of monstrous size, 

He never slumbers in his pew. 
But when he shuts his eyes I 

And he hath a way —quaint way— 

Of leaning on his hips. 
And not a blessed word will say. 

But when he opes his lips. 



24 THE PAMPHLET ADV^EKTISEK. 



L I X E S . 



TO MISS SAT.LIE \V 



Oh ! maiden ol' the soft blue eye, 

To whom sincerest thanks are due, 
J vow, bv yonder star-lit sky, 

I'll ever bo thy friend and true. 
Though Sorrow's wreath may bind thy bro\v% 

And all thy fondest hoj>es deeay, 
Throutjjh weal or woe — the same as now — 

In darkest or thy brightest day, 
Thou wilt ever, sweet one, find mv. 

Oh ! fair one, can I e'er forget 

Sweet friendship's generous token ? 
Or will eonscien(!eever let 

Me break the vow once spoken ? 
No ! and by the lustre of thine eye, 

That out-shines the stars of Heaven, 
Again I vow, from Memory's eye. 

Thine image fair shall ne'er be riven, 
And for aye a friend thou'lt find me. 



THE PAMPHLKT ADVERTISER. 26 



STAR OF THE EVENING. 



AN ODE. 



Star of the evening*, beautiful star, 
Dancing in b(>auty, Hoen from afar, 
Bearaing so softly, so bright and so^fair, 
Gazed on by millions, belle of thy sphere. 

Even beholding thee starteth a tear, 
Dimming my eye when all seemeth too fair; 
All seems too lovely for m{; to be sad. 
Yet Star of Evening, I am not glad! 

This })ensive eve seemeth nought to mar, 

The bliss thou dost symbolize bright-beaming star, 

All nature seems happy — and yet 

My soul all is sorrow — its life star hath set. 

Aye, starts the tear when I look to thee, 
Eor, oh! brightest star, methinks I see 
My Mary's image reflected there, 
As in aught that's beautiful and fair. 

Yes, my heart is sad — its gladness is gone, — 
Hopes blighted, and joy for me never was born; 
Day with its sunshine ne'er beameth for me, 
'Tis all Night and darkness — 'tis misery! 
4 



26 THE PAMPHLET ADVERTISER. 

LEE'S MISERABLES' LAMENT. 



Air — " 117/0 wUl Care for iMother NowJ" 

Why am I so weak and weary, 

Ask ye Coimnissurics, why ? 
Why so lauoiiid and so dreary, 

Faint and almost like to die? 
Oh, ray " 7/ 1 /(/(//<■," it is (■m{)ty, 

And the reason 1 will tell ; 
The Commissaries shave the rations, 

And with proceeds "cut a swell." 

Chorus. 
With ''Old Bobbie" 1 am marching 

With a knapsack on my l)aek ; 
I am lor my country hungry, 

Wlio will iill my haversack? 

What makes me shiver — feel so cold — 

Ask ye (inart(n*ma.sters, wliy ? 
Just ask them where they get tht'ir f/old, 

And how they do to live so liioh. 
What thouifh my '' fnane-u-orh^' it is miniis^ 

Ol" inaterial overdue, 
Old ''(iuartermast " liatli iiinde " a speck ;" 

Ilehath thi' dinus — tliey'll put him through 

( 'Hours. 
With " Old J^obbie " 1 am marching, 

With no shoes upon my feet; 
I am (bi- my country ragged, 

Wli'i will ])atch my breeches si-at? 

riagtjed and hungry, thus 1 hie 

To the sanguinary trout, 
There, perchance, to " make a die;'^ 

Or get a wound for Doctor Hunt,. 
Or some other " Doe." to define 

What's the best for it to do ; 
An<l if a limb he'll sure incline 

To use a " saw " — and n-liish'y too. 

Chours. 
With "Old Bobbie" I am marching, 

Brim " smack " up with hoj)es and fearsf 
While Com.j Quart., and Doc, are ridings 

With whiskey, " f/^i" and little cares. 



THE PAMPHf.ET ADVERTISKR. 27 



HENCEFORTH LET THY HOME HK MJNE. 



Am — "No, Ne'er can thy Home he Mine." 



Oh ! I tliouglit my lioniti was sweeter fur 

Than any on eautli beside, 
And I called it orst the brightest star, 

In the .s-ki/ of my Jove and pride. 
Rut oh ! since J first gazed on thee, 

My affections doth entwine, 
Around the place -where thou may'st be — 

Henceforth let thy home l)e rain(\ 

I thought th<M'e ne'er was a sky iintrc blue, 

Nor a sun more warm and l)right 
Than that which drank Aurcira's dew, 

In the home of my young delight. 
But now, to me, thy cot serene, 

That the flowers doth entwine, 
Is the SAveetest place on earth, I ween — 

Hencefortli let thy home be mine. 

Oh I sing to me a favorite air ; 

A soft and pensive strain ; 
In volumed sweetness let me hear 

Thy gentle voice again. 
For it fills my soul with ecstacy 

When I hear that voice of thine ; 
My young heart only throbs lor thee — 

Hencefoi'th let thy home Ije mine. 

No, no! thy loved and tranquil home 

Shall never be scorned by me ; 
And oh ! the time will never come 

When I shall liave scorn for thee. 
For this heart, though young, is sincere, 

Its ev'ry pulsation thine — 
Without thee, all is nothing here — 

Henceforth let thy home be mine. 



28 THE PAMPHLET ADVERTISEB. 



TO 



(Written in her Bible.) 



May this holy little volume — 

Silent teacher of the Truth, 
Ever be thy loved Preceptor, 

(iuide thee in thy days of youth ; 
Bear thee up upon tlu^ waters 

Of life's rouoh and stormy sea, 
Lead you to the (Jreat Ini mortal, 

Through its soothing ministry. 



L I N E S . 



To Jennie 



Dearly I love thee — sincerely! — madly! 
For thee would I die — die for thee gladly! 
Ay ! my very soul is i'ull of thee. 
In cv'ry star thine image pure I see, 
I hear thy voice in ev'ry whisp'ring grove, 
A ttuned to warblers' s>veetcst notes of love — 
Chords that fdl me, thrill me constantly 
With brightest, fondest thoughts of thee. 

And yet I feel that thou'lt love me never. 
For mv hopes — all ! — have been blasted ever ; 
Ev'ry cherished aim darkened with defeat 
And hope sent reeling l)ack, erushed, to my feet. 
Ah I if thou love'st me not — then thy hate 
I ask, rather than p%, for my fate — 
A kindliness that w^ould fail to remove 
The cruel pangs of unrequited love. 



THE PAMPHLET ADVERTISER.. 29 



THE PRETTIEST GIRL. 



Inscribed to Miss B. B., of Portsmouth, Vn. 



Every city, every locality, has its prettiest "lassie, oh !" Some 
sweet sixteen, or interesting Seventeen, or coquettish eighteen, who 
holds the palm of beauty, and is the boast of the surrounding limit 
in which she "lives and has her being." Portsmouth has its 
belle, its beauty — but the question is, " who is she ?" There are, 
verily, so many beautiful girls in that city that it is rather difficult 
to answer the query — to say who she is. We could, unhesitatingly, 
proclaim the name of her we deem the " Queen of Beauty ;" but 
then we want to know who the accepted one is — she to whom is ac- 
corded the title of "the prettiest girl in town" by almost universal 
acclamamation. Here's the rub. Who can it be? The ti-anscend- 
ent beauty in toto of that ville, is an acknowledged fact, and wlien 
then; are so many even more than lieautiful, it is, we opine, a rather 
difficult matter to discriminate; especially when the features of dis- 
position are contrasted. 

Nevertheless, there is one in that city by the sea — one accepted 
by the majority, if not by all as the beauty in every respect. 
Though we have little or nothing to do with society (we are sorry 
to say) yet we know a great deal about it ; for we are in constant 
communication with Miss Gossip, who keeps us pretty well posted. 
We are indebted to her for being able to asseverate that there is 
one — a fair young girl — who is universally acknowledged as " our 
boest," and wears, with infinite grace, dignity and modesty, the 
native livery of acknowledged loveliness. 

Yes, Miss Gossip told us the name of the lady in question, and 
though, like us all, the said Miss is not infallible, and makes mis- 
takes now and then, still, upon the whole, she can be, to some ex- 
tent, relied upon, and in this instance we know, or at least consider 
her assertion, incontrovertible. 

The interesting seventeen she proclaims belle of that precinct, is 
the self-same " dearie, oh," to whom we have so long, silently and 
tacitly, awarded the honorary ap})ellation of Portsmouth's Queen 
of Beauty and Belle of belles. We will describe her, somewhat in 



30 Tin: rAMiMfi.ET advektiser. 

l)ri('f'. Sho is as l)eautirul in clianicter as in appearance. Her 
lovely inliei-ent (pialities^ eomhineil witli the heauty oC lier exterior, 
stanij> hei- with the inipi'ess oi" '' inunaeiihite lieauty," and fix her in 
our fancy as one eminently -worthy of ])oets' dreams and soii<rs, and 
painters' hrightest colors of" delineation. Her form is round and 
sylph-like, Jier eyes blue, soft and liquid, s})arklin<>;, meltini;:, ex- 
pressive and irresistible. Her hair is of a rich brown color — dark 
and luxuriant ; her hands are small, delicately shaped, with taper- 
ing lingers, and exquisite nails. Hes mouth, which hid(>s an ex- 
quisite set of even and pearly teeth, is singularly beautiful — 

Is sliai)ed like Cupid's bow, 

I'rom wlTu'li love's :iccciils gently How. 

Her voice is rich and mellow, sonorous, sweet anil clear, and 
every soft and silvery note goes ])ealing through the air. I know 
they are re-echoed by cherubs on the wing, and wafted to the 
heavens ! — Oh ! I like to hear her sin"-. Her feet are charmin<r — 
what more can we say of them ? her carriage unexcelled — attract- 
ive and nlluring, as is her tout ensemble . Our subject admits of 
volumes; but as we have neither time noi space to devote to it, 
(and if mc had we wouldn't be able to do it justice). We will con- 
clude our hasty remarks with the wish that our Belle may live, to a 
ripe old age, and ring on with the same silvery sound of prosperity 
and felicity that she now wafts to the breezes. 

Cheerily and merrily, joyous and free, 
May she march to the great eternity. 



THE PAMPHLET ADVERTISER. 31 



GONE TO THE GRAVE. 



ON THE DEATH OF MRS. G. W. B. 



Gone to the grave, from all the ties of life, 
The (laughter, the sister, the mother — the wife; 
Gone to the grave — the mortal remains 
Of one whose soul, sweet heavenly strains 
Weleome to bliss, and a bright garland accord 
That Purity weaves in the vale of the Ijord. 

Gone to the grave, and a fond sister's tear 
Hath wet the chill sod, just flung o'er her bier; 
And a mother, bowed with griefs and with years, 
Weeps — and her aged lips tremble with prayers, 
Breathing in accents pathetic and mild. 
Prayer after prayer for the dearest dead child. 

Gone to the grave, and a brother's warm heart 
Throbs with the anguish her death dotli impart ; 
And bends with grief — in a silence that shows 
The impress deep of the keenest of woes — 
A manly form, that was wont to share — 
Her joy, her woe, her hope, her fear ! 

Gone — to the grave — from her children so dear ; 
Their young, tender hearts — what a void left there ! 
How they mourn a bereavement known only to them, 
Who've lost such a jewel from love's diadem. 
Oh ! who u})on earth, with the tcnderest heart, 
Can act for the orphans the fond mother's part ? 

Gone to the grave, and they say she is dead ; 
Her spirit from the mortal part hath fled, 
But she still lives on ; they do not die 
Who inherit a blissful eternity ! 
They sleep only to wake, and, in waking, see 
The realms of God, and Divinity ! 

Gone to the grave ! Have you seen her mild eye ? 

Or dklst list to her voice's melody. 

So loved by all ? And how highly esteemed 

For many chaste virtues, that in soft beauty beamed. 

Gone ! and there're many to weep o'er her grave, 

The old and the young, the fair and the brave ! 



32 THE PAMPlIi.ET ADVEIITISEU. 

(Jone to the gnivc, and in tueni'ry's deep urn, 
Bright thouglits of the loved one iorcvor sliall burn, 
But heed ye tlie prccej)t-^'' His will and not thine" — 
Ye sad of" heart ! and oh ! eease to repine ; 
And wliilst ye live, may it ever be said — 
Ye walk in the path trod erst by the tknd. 



DO YOU THINK I'M INSINCERE? 

W hen I tell you of your beauty, 

Of your manner soft and sweet, 
And eon)plinient your pretty eyes, 

And your no less pretty feet— 
When I say that you are eharining, 

80 bewitehin*^ and so fair, 
Oh ! why do you doubt me, Fannie, 

Do vou think I'm insincere? 

When 1 vow those grac-eful hushes 

Shadow eye^s I would were mine ; 
To bask in their sunny flashes 

Fills me with a joy divine: 
WluMi I a])plaud your ruby lips, 

And your silken, raven hair. 
Oh ! why will you doubt m.e, Fannie, 

Do you think I'm insincere? 

Do you til ink the feign in<<; garb 

Of the hypocrite 1\\ wear — 
False words and heinous wiles 

I would j)ractice to ensnare? 
Do you think that I could trifle 

With the heart of one so fiiir? 
God forbid ! No longer doubt me — 

Do not think I'm insincere! 

Have not ere this my tell-tale eyes 

Told you Avhat I feel full Avell : 
Do not my actions — more than words — 

Speak what I crave to tell ? 
Yes, oh ! how I'd like to tell you ! 

Tell you something — but I fear 
That you still would doubt me, Fannie — 

Still believe me insincere. 



THE PAMPHLET ADVERTISER. 33 



I DO NOT BLAME A BACHELOR. 

I do not blame a bachelor, 

If he leads a single life ; 
The way the girls are brought up now 

He can't support a wife. 

Time was, when girls could card and spin, 
And wash, and bake, and brew; 

But now they have to keep a maid 
If they have aught to do. 

I do not blame the bachelor— 

His courage must be great, 
To tliink to wed a modern miss 

If small be his estate. 

Time was, when wives could help to buy 

The land they helped to till. 
And saddle Dobbin, shell the corn, 

And ride away to mill. 

The bachelor is not to blame, 

If he's a prudent man ; 
He now^ must lead a single life 

And do the best he can. 



DEAD. 

Dead ! Every day is written and pronounced these little sentences: 
*'So and so died yesterday — died to-day — he is dead, or she is dead." 
Every day a flower is plucked from the wreath of some sunny 
home ; a breach made in some happy circle ; a jewel stolen from 
some casket of love. Each day from the varied fields of life some 
harvester disappears. Yea, every hour some sentinel falls from his 
post on the ramparts of Time into the surging waters of Eternity. 
Even as we wTite, the solemn cortege, passing our portal, tells of 
one who hath ceased to be mortal — who is dead. 

*' Dead !" Who ? Perhaps it is a gentle babe, sinless as an 
angel's dream, pure as a vernal zephyr ; one whose laugh was as 



34 • THE PAMPHLET ADVERTISER. 

the gush of summer rills, Iolterin<2; in bright bowers of Flora, 
whose little life was a })eri)etual litany — a May crowned with pas- 
sion flowers that never fade. Or, niayhaps, it was a youth, hopeful 
and generous ; one \\hosc path was strewn with flowers, with not a 
serpent lurking underneath ; one whose soul panted after commun- 
ion with th(! great and good, and reached forth with earnest efibrt 
for the guerdon in the unseen distance. "Dead!" A young girl, 
pure as the floral diadem that twines her brow ; stricken down in 
the bud of womanhood and beauty ; and from the dim aisles of 
Life she is borne to the " garden of the slumberers." A tall, 
stately man, girt witli the halo of victory, and standing at the 
day's close under his own vine and lig tree, hath fixllen to the dust, 
even as the anthem trembles upon his lips ; and, he too, now lies 
" where the rude forefathers of the handet sleep." An aged patri- 
arch, bow(!d with years and misfortune, even as he looked upon the 
distant hills for the coming of the angel host, sinks into the dream- 
less slumber, and from his door now hangs the black emblem of the 
dead! "Dead!" Daily, men, women and children arc passing 
aw'ay, and hourly some graveyard yawns for their coming — and the 
sod is flung over the dead ! 

As oft in the morn we find that some flower, that blushed so 
sweet in the mellow sunset, has withered forever, so daily, when we 
rise from the bivouac, to stand again at our post, we miss souk^ 
brother soldier, whose cheery cry in the seiges and struggles of the 
past, has been as fire from licaven upon our hearts. Every day 
som(; pearl drops from the Jeweled thread of friendship; some lyre 
to which we have been wont to listen, hushed forever! But wise 
are they who mourn not tlie pearl and nuisic lost, for life with them 
shall pass away quietly as an orient shadow from the earth and 
death be a triumph and a gain. 



THE PAMPHLEJ- ADVERTISER.. 35 



DEAD 



A little mass of innocence, 
A pure and spotless child, 

A babe — a darling boy or girl — 
With eyes so soft and mild ; 

Gone from the strife and din, 

Of the world and its sia ; 

Gone to Death ! 

The beautiful child ! 

Cold and lifeless — a noble lad, 

A mother's idol — boy, 
A father's rising boast and pride, 

And a fond sister's joy : — 
Gone to the brightest land — 
That heaven-lit strand. 
Gone to Death ! 

The idolized boy ! , 

At the first dawn of youth she lies, 
A maiden bright and fair ; 

Azrael, too, hath closed her eyes — 
Her gentle soul, ah ! where ? 

Gone in the flight of time 

To a beautiful climt^ — 
Gone to Death ! 
The maid so bright and fair ! 

Here in that rigid, weird embrace, 

A royal form is seen. 
And there a sweet and womanly face, 

Once lit in beauty's sheen; 
Gone in the morn of life — 
With aspirations rife — 
Gone to Death ! 

The Monarch and the Queen. 

Ah ! in the full bloom of manhood, 
He's smitten from the branch 

Of the bold, stately Tree of Life, 
That looked to him so staunch ; 

Withered from its stem, 

Ay, withered like them; 
Gone to Death ! 
The feeble and the staunch ! 



3®f THE PAMPHLET ADVERTISER. 

And in the prime of womanhood, 
She too huth felt the blast 

That liath stripp'd Ivn- of the mortal- 
Of earth's uncertain easte: 

Gone — gone ! to that shore — 

Th' unknown Evermore ! 
Gone to Death ! 
Gone down to tlie Past. 

That aged man on yonder bier, 
His quaint race, too, hath run, 

And as the Kve of Life came on, 
He went down with its sun. 

Sunk or rose, for ay. 

In eliangeh>ss Niglit or Day — 
Sunk to Death ! 
The white-haired aged one. 

And 'tis thus we are marcliing on, 
Marching down to the Past ; 

The rich, tlie poor, the high, the low. 
One level seek at last. 

On they go — women, men, 

Children — together then — 
On to Death ! 
And down to the Past ! 

Thou man or woman, boy or girl, 

Whoever thou may'st be ; 
Oh ! look thou not abroad for Death, 
He's ever near to thee. 
Dead are ye to-day — 
Dead ! dying for ay — 
Passing beyond the pale of Breath, 
In one unbroken train to Death ! 
And to Eternity ! 



THE PAMPHLET ADVEKTISER. 37 



A BACHELOR'S LIFE FOIi ME. 

By Nero's Fiddle and Bow ! 

By all " the Powers that be !" 
1 swear I'll never — ah, no ! 

Have a Petticoat tied to me. 
Matrimony isn't, I ween, 

What it is cracked np to be ; 
Already too much I have seen, — 

A Bachelor's the life for me. 

The latest of hours you can — 

If it pleases your worship — keep ; 
Without a Mollie or Ann — 

At home losing her sleep : 
Sitting up, waitiiig and weeping, 

'Till Johnnie or Billie comes in, — 
Then, och ! what a tongue sweeping, 

Commencing with — "where have you binf^ 

You can come and go at your ease. 

Without " John, do this or do tliat," 
Or, " Dear Will, buy a toy to please 

Our youngest — the sweet little * rat.' " 
Or, " Dearest you can, if you choose 

Take Johnnie — your namesake — down, 
And treat to a ])air of new shoes, 

For his feet are quite on the ground." 

You can lie down and take a good nap, 

And revel' in Bachelor's dreams. 
Without being aroused by a slap, 

To consult about baby — who screams. 
Who, finally, to quiet, you have 

To jump, walk, and all the night toss ; 
Great God ! in yom* providence, — save. 

And, oh ! spare me that " Jordan's Cross." 

There is a host of other things. 

Too boring e'en to relate. 
Each one of which treach'rously clings 

To those in the married state. 
Now if them all you would avoid, 

And live independent and free. 
And by wife nor brat be annoyed, 

A jolly old Bachelor be. 



38 THE PAMPHLET ADVEETISEK. 

\\K HAVE PARTED. 

We luive ])artc(l, and forever; 

Still I'm loudly, only thine, 
Though 1 know that 1 must never, 

Dearest, hope to eall you mine. 
No ! I never can forget thee, 

E'er my love shall burn as bright ; 
Though we've parted and forever. 

Beams thy ibrm before my sight. 

We have parted, and forever, 

1 shall see thee never more ; 
Yet I'm dreaming of thee ever, 

And the halcyon days of yore. 
I remember, oh ! too i)lainly. 

All thy little charming ways ; 
Though we've parted, and fbrev(T, 

Meni'ry claims those happy days. 

We have i)arted, and forever. 

Still my love burns on the same ; 
Though my hopes are blighted, never 

Shall I cease to breathe thy name. 
No ! I never can forget thee. 

E'er my love shall burn as bright ; 
Though we've parted, and forever, 

Beams thy form before ray sight. 

TO FANNIE. 

[After Hood.] 

View me not scornfully, 
Speak of me mournfully, 

Gently and humanely ; 
Not of the stains of me. 
Not of the blames of me, 
All that remains of me. 

Now — treat woinanly ! 

But should you chide me, 
Even deride me. 
And finally hide me, 

On Lethe's isle ; 
My spirit shall hover, 
On Loye's pinions, over 
Thy pathway and cover 

Thy hate with a smile I 



thp: pamphlet advertiser. 39 

L ( ) V E . 

Lines prompted by a sweet and beantil'ul <>irl telling me that ,-lie had fallen in 
love at first sight, bnt that tlie sentiment, after predominating for some time, 
finally died away. 1 ^endeavored to persuade her of, what 1 considered, the erro- 
neousness of her idea of loVe — especially at first sight, but she inflexibly held her 
ground, remaining " scissors " to the last. 

I've told yoii I deemed, at first sight, 
That tliero was no such thing as love, 

And still I hold that I am I'ight, 
Am still asjixecl as .stars above. 

I said 'twas admiration merely, 

What you and many have called love, 

And not that feeling, most sincerely, 
That doth the hidden bosom move. 

Now admiration is the germ 

From which that feeling springs divine; 

'Tis indescribable we affirm, 
Yet would we partially define. 

F^orsooth it is not like the winds, 

Fickle winds that alternate range , 
'Tis something that forever binds, 

'Tis something that ne'er knows a change. 

Love has its growth : 'tis not a flash. 

Like lightning of a meteor i*ay ; 
'Tis indelible — not a dtish 

That niay soon be dashed away. 

When it its mystic growth attains. 

Heaven — its l)irth-i)Iace — is not stronger ; 

The same in sinishint; and in rains, 

The same it is through lite — and longer. 

This is love — not nominal love, 

Such as Ave see from day to da}- ; 
This has its source in realms above, 

L^nlike the other's adverse way. 

This is, sweet girl, too rarely seen, 

'Tis something you have never known. 

Direct, on angel- wings serene. 
From celestial climes 'tis borne. 

Then say not that you've ever loved, 
Have loved and that that love is o'er, 

For had it e'er your bosom moved, 
It had been there fore verm ore. 



40 THE PAMPHLET ADVERTISER. 



OUR SOUTHERN GIRLS. 



A SONG. 



You may sine; of gentle maidens 

Of the oenial clinic of l^Vance, 
And of Italy's sweet daughters, 

Who excel in song and dance — 
Of famed C'ircassian beauty, 

Of German fmn/cins fair, 
But oh ! with our bright Southern girls 

They never can compare ! 

Yes ; you may read of the softness 

Of the damsels of Navarre ; 
Of the stately, classic beauty 

Of the children of the Czar — 
Of the brilliant maids of England, 

And old Scotland's honnie fair. 
But, oh ! with our bright Southern girls 

They never can compare ! 

Forsooth, there's regal beauty 

Amon^ the hills of Spain, 
Impassioned scnoritaH, 

Who yet in softness reign. 
And the' pretty little Portuguese 

Can boast a graceful air — 
But, oh! with our bright Southern girls 

They never can i;ompare ! 

Our noble, high-souled heroines 

In deathless fame renowned — 
From the modest, blushing, "sweet sixteen." 

To three-score years abound. 
The brightest virtues are combined 

In our pure, angelic fair — 
And with the women of the South 

No others can compare ! 



thp: pamphlet advertiser. 41 

SONNET. 



RESPECTFULF.Y INSCRrP,ED Tf) CHRIST CHURCH CHOIR. 



Sweetly, sublimely, it rises and swells, 
Deep-toned, like old Cathedral bells — 
The solemn music ; its lofty note 
Leaves e'en the temple, and doth float 
To heaven ; and an<i;els wait 
On golden wing, at golden gate, 
To catch the melody, and waft it by 
The Throne supernal in the sky. 
There commingling with celestial strains, 
Temples " not made with hands " it gains, 
And God's own new-born choristers raise 
Mellowest cliants in tunes of praise, 
And earth and heaven at last prolong. 
With one accord, each sacred song. 

CAN'T MAKE UP A BED. 

A late newspajjer has some pretty hard hits at fashionble 
ultra-refined young ladies, in which there is, we fear, " more 
truth than poetry." The fact is, that when you see a young lady 
so very delicate that she GanH make her bed up, or put a couple of 
plates upon the table, and yet trots all over town daily with the 
speed of a race horse, to jumble nonsense w ith the Softpatcs and 
Snippers and Jenkinses and Duzenberries, just chalk it down that 
she's " a piece of calico" you can't invest a single penny or pulsa- 
tion in. A girl who hasn't the muscle to lift a few feathers and a 
pillow-case, but can tire a locomotive and a whole omnibus line out 
of breath, is an institution that, like prussic acid and old maids, is 
to be kept clear of. Young men will please button up the fact in 
their memory. 

This is a "cap" that fits many, very many, we. regret to say, in 
our midst. They literally impale us on all sides, and we pity them 
from the bottom of our heart. We know intimately several of the 
" can't make-a-beds," and advise them, in all kindly feeling, to 
learn the useful arts of a kitchen life, and see how^ much more there 
is in life than they suppose. In the olden time it used to be dif- 
ferent. Surely the change wrought in this domestic feature dis- 
parages the advance of enlightenment in this particular. 
6 



4^1 THE PAUI'UIjET ADVEHTlbKU. 

BEAUTY'S CHILD. 

I)KI>I('ATE1> TO A STUANtJEn. 

I swear she is a lovely ci'oaturel 

How faultless is her every feature I 

Her mouth is shaped like Cupid's bow, 

From which love's aecents gently flow. 

Thost' luscious lips of ruddy hue 

Hide teeth that glitter like the dew; 

HoM' would their warm, transporting kiss 

Impart a taste of heaveuly l)Hss ! 

Her nose — artistic in its style — 

Her azure eyes all souls heguik^ ; 

How (classical and boldly lair, 

Her brow ! And her soft suiuiy hair 

Anon is l»y the breezes riven, 

And o'er her snow-white bosom il riven. 

The seraphs breathe those zephyrs light 

Upon their sister here so bright — 

And, oh ! mine eyes did never greet 

Sueh lovely haitds, such fairy feet I 

Sure itatui-e was so kind to none 

As to this sweet, angelic one. 

She revels in lu^r peerless sheen 

Of clierub-grace and lofty mien, 

lileiu with an air so soft and mild 

We well njay call her "Beauty's child!"' 

DISAJM 'OINTMENT. 

Disa})pointm(»nt ! Oh! thou monster! 
Hie the(> hence forevermore I 
reni])t thou not again ray fancy, 

Talce th>' shadow from my door. 
Would'st thou a<ld still to my anguish, 
Would'st thou have me longer languish, 
Would'st thou ? Answer, I implore, 

Answer this and nothing more. 

Mortal! O! thou frail and doomed one, 
All thy liap])iness is o'er ; 
I will ever hover round thee, 

And my shadow dark thy door; 
Unrelenting I shall sever 
All thy hopes, now and forever; 
Mortal ! this I answer, moiial I 

Oidy this and nothing more. 



THE PAMPHLET AJiVERTISEU. ' 43 

ALL OF LIFE. 

All of life is dark uud dreary ; 
All so weary, all so weary, 
That it fills me, thrills me ever 
With dank visions of Forever! 
Weird, wild visions that may never 
Free my soul ! 

Are there none, not one, to eheer me, 
Are there none, not one, to liear me, 
Ijist the story of my sadness. 
Soothe my brow, allay my madness, 
Start one gleaming of the gladness, 
Erst I knew? 

Nay, not one to stay the anguish, 
Break the spell that makes me languish ! 
And how coldly all pass by me, — 
Smile to see dread Fate thus hie me — 
To despair and gloom — to try me 
None can tell ! 

Where the friends that once around me — 
Friends I thought — in kindness bound me ; 
Where are they whose plastic measure 
Of regard I deem a treasure, 
When with them I drank of pleasure? 
Where, oh ! where ? 

They, alas ! have gone — are weary — 
Since I fell from my proud eyry 
Of high fortune — and to sorrow 
Sunk ; and, sinking, failed to borrow. 
Aught of old, and on the morrow, 
Lone I die ! 

They have left me to my trouble, 
But they seek the self-same bubble, 
That unnerved my soul and started 
Notes discordant — broken hearted ; 
Would we ne'er had met, or parted, 
Ere too late ! 

Shades Plutonian now appal me, 
Fast and faster, woes befal me. 
Even Hope, sweet Hope, hath left me, 
Of her balmy solace 'reft me, 
And Despair — Despair ! — hath cleft me — 
Rent my soul ! 



4.4 THE PAMPHLET ADVKRTISEK. 



JJNKS TO KATE. 

A new year is before thee, 

Its l)rightest h()p(\s are thine, 
Its ealm bhie sky is (»'er thee, 

Thy bosom virtues shrine ; 
And thine tlie sweetness <riven 

To S])rin,!j:;-tinie's niorniniij honr — 
I^ure, fresh, as when from heaven 

It burst on E(1en's bower. 

But liark! a wail of sorrow 

Floats from the partinjj year, 
That whisj)ers ere to-morrow 

Thine eye may hold a tear ; 
Thy sun's })riiiht beam be shaded. 

Thy sky be blue tio more, 
Thy flowers of Hope be faded. 

And youth's warm promise o'er. 

Kate, heed it not, though lonely 

Thy evening' hour may be ; 
Though Beauty's bark eau only 

Float on a summer sea — 
Though time thy bloom is stt^aling, 

There's still beyond his dart 
The wild-flower wreatl; of fe<?ling, 

The sunbeam of thy heart. 



THE PAMPHLET ADVERTISER. 46 



TO FANNIE. 

" Just a little while," said she, 
When'she left her home and me, 

"I shall only stay ;" 

But amid the gay, 
In a eity by the sea. 
Rich with splendid pageantry, 
This promise, so frankly spoken, 
She has innocent^ broken. 
Ah, she recks not of the pain 
With which I pine for her again. 
It has added to a breast 
Pangs wh(^re never yet was rest — 
To a young heart, sad and lonely. 
For loving her too well and — only ! 

Fifty moons have passed away, 
P^ollowing in the train of Day, 

(Whose gorgeous Sun 

Hath streamed upon 
As oft this mundane sphere,) 
Since she — the loved and fair, 
Parted from her home and me 
For that city by the sea. 
Full many years, consuming hope, 
To me, it seems, have had their scope 
The while — and wrung my breast — 
Which has never been at rest — 
With a yearning, strange and lonely. 
For loving her so well and — only ! 



46 THK PAMI'HI,ET ADVEUTIWKII. 



L T N E ^^ 

Accompanying a ("onfuderate ¥\niX prosenterl to a lady whom I lioani ^'Xjn-cs-! 
the tear that it would ncvor more in trimnph wave. 

Laily, with tcc-linfis too profound 

To litter, 1 now give to thee 
A tlui;, wliose record will redound 

'Hiroiioh ages of eternity — 
To the glory of that S})arran band 

Who l)attled 'noath ius virgin fold, 
Who linnly gras[)M .sweet Freedom's wand 

"I'ill hy the stroke of liosts untold 
'Twas shiver'd — and w ith it treasurtxl JjopevS 

Of those most nohle, flat riot-hearts ! 
Even as I write my hosom ojtes, 

And to mine eye the tear-drop starts, 
* To thiids. on the tell destiny 

Of that brave flag — and of tiu; lo-ave 
Who nobly strove, on land and sea, 

(Alas ! how sadly vain) to save 
Their loved banner—" Red, White and RiA !" 
Embleni of Freedom's hero-dead ! 

Do 1 say dead ? May that not be ! 

Heroes! may they only slumber; 
Ami, lady, may we yet be free, 

Desi)it(; the Tyrant's boasted immber. 
Oan'st thou gaze uj)on that flag and feel 

It never shall in trhtmph wave ; 
That Plate's decree hath sets its seal, 

Forever doomed it to the grave ? 
No! its red flashes Chivalry ; 

Its white gleams Honor, spotless Truth ; 
Its star-cross glows with purity — 

Beaming in freshness and in youth. 
Lady, let these dispel thy fear. 

Though emblems of a blighted hope ; 
Blighted a time only — not fore'er, 

For the Spring of Freedom yet will ope, 
And Liberty, from her vestal shrine 
Will smile on Tyranny in decline ! ] 



I HE PAMPHLET ADVEin ISKU.. 47 



KU KLIJK KLAN. 

A secret and mysterious society, said to Lave oH-inate.) in T.-n,..>,-s,.,. !„ ilu 
early part of this year — ^SC)S. 

^Ve journev with the mighty winds, 

With midnight's mournful breese, 
Our banner waves unseen in air, 

O'er land and o'er seas. 
We seek the blood of craven hearts, 

The oppressors of the free, 
A&sassins black and fiends of hell, 

Who'd wipe out Liberty I 
Ku Klux! 

There's new life in the mystic cave, 

Down by the 'H>inison Tide," ' 
Its seething waters foam and rave. 

Its breath blows far and wide. 
Springs thence the avenger's magic dart 

The dread invisible point. 
That pierces every dastard heart, 

And wrenches every joint I 
Ku Klux ! 

Ah ! danger is to us unknoMu, 

AVe walk the earth and sky, 
We scatter death ^^■here'er 'tLs meet. 

And we — w^e never die ! 
The waters stand beneath our feet, 

The winds shrink back and shriek. 
Our ga>ce there're none who dare would meet, 

To us, e'en hell is weak ! 
Ku Klux : 

Grim skeletons in size, and frame 

Of giant height are we, 
We rend the forests as the storm, 

And still the sounding sea. 
We gather to our " Cave of Death '' 

The despots of the land. 
And all the miscreants of earth, 
. Who cross the spirit band, — 
Ku Klux ! 

Done at " The Cave " 

This 6th day of April A. D. 1868. 



THE PAMPHLET ADVEBTISEK. 



THE ABSENT ONE. 



TO MISS L. C. 



F'dthvv, Thuu whicli art in J leaven. 

Heed my humble prayer; 
To Tliee in meekness low I bow, 

For I Avould have Thee iiear, 
Guanl her with Thy "jealous eare/' 

And keep her safe in Thee — 
The absent one, and dearest friend 

Tn all the world to nu?. 

Father, give her safely l)aek 

To loved ones, and mo ; 
That I may see her once aj^ain, 

And find her blest in Thee; 
Watch her still, and bless her 

With unction ol" Thy love, 
And when her "little race is run," 

Then rest her soul above. 



TO xMOLLIE. 

Should I die and go to heaven. 
And you chanced the other way. 

This fond heart l)y Fate thus riven 
Of thy spirit, could not stay. 

Straightway would I spread my pinions, 

Bid farewell to angel eyes ; 
Head my Bill for IfoFs dominions — 

Quit for her e'en Paradise ! 



THE PAMPHLET ADVERTISER. 



THE iNAMES OF MARY AND LEND RE. 

Of all the names of heaven, 

Of all the names of earth, 
Tliat were e'er to mortal given, 

Or to immortal birth. 
The boiiiiie names of " Mary '* 

And of " the lost I^enore " 
Are sweetest, for there's in them 

That which angels might adore. 

Ah, to me each one is fairer 

Than any other name : 
Softier, lovelier, dearer ! 

And they'll even' be the same, 
For tliey have a lasting spell — 

Sweet Mary and Lenon^ — 
The gentle names I love so well — 

That angels might adore. 

J hear fliem in my dreaming. 

When the earth is wrapped in night, 
Oh ! they're ever brightly beaming 

Before my raptured sight. 
They thrill me with a pleasure 

That none e'er felt before. 
The names — whose magic mensure — 

The angels might adore. 

And yet with all this gladness 

Commingh^s much of pain ; 
Anon the hour of sadness, 

And sorrow comes again 
To cloud me with its heavy gloom, — 

A gloom ne'er felt before — 
For loving names — beyond the tomli — 

That angels might adore. 



50 THE PAJITHLET ADVERTISER. 



HIS FRIENDSHIP FOR THEE. 

He loves you ; yes! he loves you dearly- 
Purcly, Jceply, and siijccrcly — 

As a friend. 
It is not sleniler as a web, 
Nor does it like the waters ebb — 
His friendship for thee; 
For 'tis staunch as stauneh can be : — 
Trne — to the end ! 

And though he has acted queerly — 
Seemingly so insincerely — 
For a friend ; 
Yet his love will never range; 
Jt will never, never change — 
His friendship for thee; 
For 'tis staunch as staunch can be : 
True — to the end ! 

Then believe and judge him fairly ; 
Cease to doubt and to sevcsrely 

Charge thy friend ; 
For though he is so veiy ,-ad, 
Unhappy, strange — and never glad ! 
His Inendship lor thee 
Is as staunch as stauneh can be; 

Trne — to the end I 



FORGET THEE. 

Forget thee ? never ! 
Now and forever ! 
I am thine. 

\Vhave'(n- betide thee, 
Though earth deride thee, 
I am thine. 



THE PAMPHLET ADVERTISER. 61 

- SLEEP ON. 

Written for Mugic 

SlePTi on. sweet jr'rl ! Thy angel face, 

That shone ere while with life and splendof) 
Hath i)aled since then and Death doth trace 

Oh, God ! those lines of beauty tender. 
Thine eyes that beamed so softly bright, 

From earthly brightness have been riven. 
And they have gone to join by night 

The stai's that gem the dome of heaven. 

Sleep on ! That placid face will light 

iNo^more my soul, with sorrow shrouded, 
No more dispel the crushing blight, 

And smile to see my brow uncle uded; 
No more those liquid eyes will share 

A story of my young heart's sac'ne^s. 
And beaming through the pearly 'ear, 

Change my gloom all into gladness. 

Sleep on ! How fondly mem'ry's urn, 

Brionht thoughts of thee will e'er enshrine, 
Where'er T roam, where er I turn, 

I'll own no other spell but thine. 
For, oh ! beyond the ether blue, 

I know your prayers are for me given, 
And as on earth I loved thee true, 

I still will love thee. Love, in Heaven. 

IMPROMPTU TOAST. 

May honest weal 
Thy mortal seal 

Stamp and '' fasten," 
And when you die, 
To the bright sky, 
May you hasten. 

Up there to rove 
Through realms of love 

Never ending. 
And ])ray for me, 
Ihat I may be 

On earth and " mending." 



Si THE PAMPHLET ADVERTLSER. 



I LOVED YOU ON(^E. 
To . 

J loved you once — I love you yet — 

And tliough you love me not again, 
1 cherish still the day we met — 

A mem'ry blent with joy and pain, 
Joy for the holy ealni of hours, 

Pleasure-houi's, bejruileil with thee, 
\\ hen oft sinee then, 'mid nature's bowers, 

1 deera'd you nouiz:lit but purity. 

I'ain I because you loved me not ? 

Ah, no ! but thou wert false to me. 
False, unkind to one, God wot. 

Who loved thee only but for thee. 
No sordid passion stained his heart 

To come between you and his love ; 
'Twas youthful — l)ut as true a part 

As e'er was wafted from above. 

Pain ! because of the change in thee, 

Of the falsity of kind pretence, 
With which you won my heart from me, 

And, with it, all its coniidencc. 
Base ingratitude, — doubly ba^e ! 

To give me hate for love like mine ; 
Springing too from a soul — whose face 

Beams so fairly a>J docs thine. 

Then be it so — I echo back 

The word that bids us part fore'er, 
And with it Pity's sigh — for lack, 

False girl, of all I thought you were. 
I love you still despite your wrath. 

But not as erst I did — and more, 
For the love you scorned another hath, 

And with thee my destinj^'s o'er. 



THE PAMPHLET ADVERTISEB. 53 



LUCY. 

You may talk about your Marys, 

Your Katies and your Fannies, 
Pamelias and your Alices, 

Belle and your " gentle Annies ;" 
But, ah I they do not clearly ring, 

Xor are they soft and juicy 
As the bonnie vcee name I sing — 

My own sweet-sounding Lucy. 

'Tis many a day since I '' fetched up " 

L'pon this world of ours. 
Since first my '' peepers " saw the light, 

The water, sky, and flowers. 
Though long since then — those merry times — 

When I was young and juicy, 
I've never seen in prose or rhymes, 

A name I liked like Lucy. 

I've dared the dangers of the deep. 

When waves rolled high as mountains, 
And thunders shook the good old^craft, 

That dipp"d like fish in fountains. 
But, ah I those scenes — tho' they were graftd, 

Were neither soft nor juicy, 
Nor did they sway the sailor-band. 

Like mention of my Lucy. 

And when I marched me to the wars, 

With hope and youth both laden, 
I dreamed of epaulettes and scars, 

I'd win me — and a maiden ; 
And that that maiden's name should b 

A name so soft and juicy — 
So beautiful — I'll tell it thee — 

No other name but — Lucy ! 

And when the " cruel war " did close, 
And home again did find me. 



54 THE PAMPIILirf advertiher. 

A S('('kin«> lliat loiij^; lost repose, 

I'lmt in earlier days did hind nie — 

r went to see a hnxoni <iirl, 

\\ ho was botli yoiiiiir and jiii(y, 

Hit hair hunu- loose in many a curL 
And, faith ! her naino was Luey. 

ft was nor lonji;, I'd have von know. 

Before we did the thinu', sir, 
!>efore the priest did splice us two, 

With matrimonial strin<j:, sir, 
And w'ell, too, has that strino; lield out, 

For it Avas stauneh and Juiey, 
And thouixh our heads are silver'd o'er. 

It still hiiuls me and Ijuey. 



IMPROMPTU LINES. 

TO LUCIIXE. 

I loved thee not when first mine eyes 
Caut:;ht the sparkle of thine own, 

But link by link full many ties 
To a chain of Love have grown. 

And strongly w'rought is that bright chain 
That links my very soul to thee ; 

The same in sunshine as in rain, 
Untarnished it shall ever be. 



THE PAMPHLET ADVERTISER.. 55 

FAREWELL, VIRGINIA. 

(Written on leaving Virginia, 18G8.) 

Farewell, Virijinia, sweet land of my birth, 

Honio of my cliiklhood, ])roteetor in Youth, 
With many I'cgrets I leave thy dear hearth, 

Wliere first were taught me the preee])ts of Truth ; 
Where first I learned me to lisp thy proud name — 

" Virginia !"— emblazoned on History's high scroll, 
To list thy bright glories aeeorded by Fame, 

And im])erishab]y written on Time's honored roll ! 

Farewell, Virginia ; sweet " mother," to tlice 

I shall ever recur with proudest acclaim; 
Land of Washington, of Jackson, of Lee ! 

Though fallen, as yet, is untarnished thy name. 
Though crushed to earth, e'en like Truth, you shall rise 

And shine with lustre you were wont to assume — 
The brightest star in Columbia's bright skies,_ 

Thou noblest martyr in Colund)ia's sad gloom ! 

Farewell ! the whe:*efore I leave thy loved sti'and, 

A'irginia, mayhap, thou never may'st know, 
I hie me away to a far, stranger land — 

Unknown, uneared for — alone in my woe! 
Not as the miscreant, weary of toil. 

Fearful of danger, deserts a brave band. 
Do I leave, alas! thy down-trodden soil, 

Wasted, efliiced, l)y the Des})ot's dark hand ! 

No ! Like the ivy that wraps the tree 'round, 

Pressing closer in rain than in the sunshine, 
My heart is Virginia's wherever 'tis found. 

My affections around her shall ever entwine. 
And when the time comes — as come the time will — 

And life still throbs in this heart I now pledge — 
To unsJiac/de the yoke of the base Tyrant's ill, 

I'll add to the force of Virginia's stout wedge! 

Farewell ! all hail to the glorious old State, 

Even trlum})hant beneath ruthless feet. 
And though so sad may seem her dark fate, 

A glory shall yet be born of deleat ! 
She yet shall rise in a grandeur sublime. 

And point to the Pa^t with the finger of Pride, 
And from her escutcheon, on Rum})arts of Time, 

Wipe the foul stains from off either side. 



^$ THE PAMPHLET ADVEKTISEK. 



TAKK J r AND REMEMBER ME. 

Take this simple, little ring, 
Youn<!; liove's honest olferiug, 

And wear it for me ; 
A slight token of" Iceling 
That is ever revealing 

Afleetion for thee; 
Tak(> it, 

And remember me. 

Though uinvorthy of a place 
In your rneui'iy, I would tniec 

One renienibranee there, 
One thought of him, who madly 
Eoves you — and would gladly 

AH your sorrow hear ; 
Take it. 

And in nnnembranee wear. 

Wear it, .-weet, and may you live 
To believe and to forgive 

This sad limit — my love; 
Alas! I nmst love thee ever, 
Whate'er thy fate — ibvgi't thee never, 

Though unloved by thee; 
take it. 

And remember me. 



TO MISS 



Lost to every love but thine, 

Only thee 1 swear to love, 
Until sun, moon and stars decline 

In all their brilliancy above ; 
So let me fold thee to my breast, 
And, kissing, whisper — " I am blest." 

Say, do you doubt me, when I swear, 
Pun>st love T ever knew — 

Ever felt for " fickle fair "— 

All my soul is throbbing through ; 
Ripe with sweetest thought of you ? 



THE PAMI'HJ.ET ADVEFlTrSKR. 

NOT YET THINE OWN. 

KESPECTFULl.Y INSCRIBED TO Mil. (i. T. 

(Writti'ii for !i lady friend.) 

Kin<i sir, 'tis sweet indeed to know, 
A <>;encrous heart doth hold nie dear, 

It wnkes a sympathetic glow, 

Wliicli Time, ])erehunee, may gently rear. 

Within my heart, where Lov(i abides, 

All was serene, where now 
A strange emotion softly glides, 

Sprung from tliy gnileless vow. 

Thus my heart, yet uneonfessed 
To aught, save Friendship's j)ower, 

Now feels the mystic germ, that bless'd, 
Would redolently foircr. 

A smile thou hast e'en from my heart, 
Mute harbinger of high esteen), 

That, from a ncAv influenee wrought, 
Would witli softest radiance beam. 

Softest, mellowest germ of Love, 
That e'er a sister's heart has grown ; 

J^eyond it — hath it known one more ? 
I know not, but not yet thine num. 

TO KIT. 

" Long may you wave," — oh, friend ! 
And prosper to the very end ! 
And when you depart th's life — 
This field of carnage and of strife — 
May you anchor safe in 1)1 iss, 
And forget you were e'er in this — 
This dark, cold, and bleak a})ode. 
With sin and trouble overflowed ; 
Where hate, shame, and tribulation, 
Dominion have in every station. 
That such, dear " Kit," may be your end. 
Is the earnest wish of your earnest friend. 
8 



'68 THK rAMPIII.KT ADVKrM'ISKIi. 



WIIV DO I LOVE YOU, DEAREST. 

\\ liy do I love you, (lcar(>.<t, 

Why .siv— *' I'm only thine;" 
Wliy think of thee l)y ihy, by niglit, 
Wliy dwell on thee with ii>iul delight, 
When thou, sweet one, eans't e'er requite 
^ly love — and be mine ? 

Ay, why do J love you, dearest, 
Why breathe thy gentle name, 

With all the fervor of a heart 

That — wounded sore in every part 

liy thee— y-et as thou art — 
Still lovi' thee the same? 

A h ! the reason is this, dearest, 

Boeatise my love is pvu'e ; 
And tliou^^h you give me hate again, 
Seorn me ! moek my heart's bright pain ! 
Tn shade, in sunshine, or in rain — 

'Twill fore'er endure ! 



TO 



God hath been so kind to thee, 

I wonder not at your j)iirity ; 

Ne'er did eherub sweetness gra(^e 

Lighter ibrm or lovelier iliee ; 

In all things beautiful reflected J see. 

Ever, sweet girl, something remindful of thee. 

Silvery stars! soft, trembling and bright, 
Peerless gems in the crown of night. 
Oh ! when I gaze on thy beauties afar, 
Telling so silently of God ! each star 
Speaking great volumes in quiet sublime, 
Wordless — yet potent, and lasting a« time ! — 
Oh ! in vour briw;htness — there mirrored I see 
One akin to the angels and thee — 
Dear to all — but dearest to me ! 



THE PAMl^HLET AI>V^ERTISER. 59 



TO LUCY. 

Though I should err tou thousaud tutu3S, 

Add crime to crime, unti! 
I filled tlie universe; with awe, 

And made eaeh heart grow <'hil!. 

Though I defy bolli man and (iod ; 

Smile ai llcll I rave at Heaven ! 
Add curse on eur.se all through the day, 

From dank moj-ii until grey even; 

Then may I e'en n^pcnl my sin.'S, 
Wash clean my robes, and swell 

The wiiiged hosts of Pai'adise — 
Forever with them dwell ! 

Alas ! forsooth, you'll not relent, 

A mortal frail and weak, 
While Jesus, master of us all, 

Forgives — and bids us seek ; 

Ay. seek Hin) in power divine, 
Though our sins be multiplied — 

With hearts and souls all penitent, 
He'll meet us — and not ehide. 

Speak gently then thou doubting one ! 

Though false to all before, 
I'm true as heaven itself to thee 

And will be evermore ! 

Let the past, sweet, bmy the past, 
Love thee, well, I swear you ! 

Bright and staunch, sweet, it shall last; 
When far away — or near you. 



GO THE PAMPHLET ADVERTISER. 

IMMORTAL LEE. 

Air — " Maryland, my ^fa7•yl(^lHl." 

All ".Jolumie Robs" love you, you know, 

liumortal Lee, Immortal Leo; 
In FretHlom's breeze our Flag shall blow, 
Immortal Lee, Imjuortal Lee. 
We will ever follow thee. 
Lover of sweet Liberty ; 
For we're determined to be free, 
Imiuortal Lee, Iniinortal L(!e. 

A post of honor we ean boa.st. 

Immortal Lee, Immortal Lee; 
We'll iirmly meet the Northern host, 

Immortal Lee, Immortal Lee. 

We light tor home and purity — 

We'll die, or gain our l^iberty ; 

For we're determined to be free. 

Immortal Lee, Immortal Lee. 

Yes, we will ever follow thee, . 

Immortal Lee, Immortal Lee; 
Captain of the brave and free. 

Immortal Lee, Immortal Lee. 
Whil'st we are guided on by thee 
We can never vanquished Ik; — 
For we're determined to be free, 
Immortal Lee, Immortal l^ee. 

Honor, Truth, and Purity, 

Lumortal Lee, Immortal Lee; 
Our motto it shall ever be, 

Immortal IjCO, Immortal Lee. 
Such motives cannot conquered be, 
For God, in his subHmity, 
Will crown us as a nation free, 
Immortiil IjCC, Immortal Lee. 

We are the ever ready lads. 

Immortal Lee, Immortal I-iee; 
To face the" Yanks," the Dutch, or " Pads," 
Immortal Lee, Immortal Lee. 
Aye, we'll ever wat^'hful be, 
On the land or on the sea — 
For we're determined to be Iree, 
Immortal Lee, Immortal Lee. 



THE PAMPHLET ADVERTISER.. (Jl 



The Northern ranks — they must be cleft ! 

Immortal Lee, Immortal I^ee. 
We'll give it to them, right and left, 

Immortal Lee, Immortal I^ee, 
Our infant banner it shall be 
Signal of dear victory — 
For we're determined to l)e free, 
Immortal Lee, Immortal Lee. 

We'll give it to them with our front, 

Immortal Lee, Immortiil Lee ; 
Right and left —all bear the brunt, 

Immortal Lee, Immortal Lee. 
Gallant, noble brave " Dixie," 
Cannot ever conquered be. 
For we're determined to be free, 
Immortal Lee, Immortal Lee. 

Then hurrah, boys ! and let us toast 

Immortal Lee, Immortal Lee; 
Chief of Panola's hero-host, 

Immortal Lee, Immortal Lee. 

Then gay be, lads, our cry to be. 

Home, Captain, Rights, and Liberty ! 

For we're determined to be free. 

Immortal Lee, Immortal Lee. 

Our trials have been quite severe, 

Immortal ]^ee, Immortal Lee ! 
We'll conquer yet, though be it dear, 

Immortal Lee, Immortal Lee. 
Great Washington's army comes to me, 
Now victors, now brought to the knee, 
But they determined to be free, 
Lnmortal Lee, Immortal Lee. 

Then forward all ye Southern braves, 

Immortal Lee, Innnortal Lee; 
" Shout victory ! or gory graves," 

Immortal Lee, Immortal Lee ! 
We'll strike for home and purity; 
We'll strike for dearest Liberty ! 
We'll strike — and we will be free! 
Immortal Lee, Immortal Lee, 



62 'IMK I'AMIMM.K! A I )Vi:(i'n.sr''Jt. 



COMKO SATYR A. 



Sui^gfstod l)y lieariiis a lady's nuiiu' liirlitly usi-d l»y |ni>|iU- >vlii>>.t' calihro in 
justly appreciated l)y " levtl heads." 

Let |ti<i,itiii's scoiMi, ;iii(! lilack nialicc slander — 
Kiivioiisly take thy spotless name in vain; 

Never, sweet ii;irl, shall deep venom |)ander 
( )ne sok> eoneeit to a l»ri!L!;ht-l)ullanced hraiii. 

Ivioht ; then heed them not — nor jioxse nor j^auder. 
And in siK-nce and — J'iff/ ■' '* hit 'em a;j::iin I'' 

W hence are thev— and who— tlial ihus thev l»anter— 

Iliss — thy name unsoiled, and of it. canlei' 
Into a jKiee of" inglorious measnre '.' 
The di^'il knows them well : and with j)leasiirc, 
Krc loiiii', '••' donht, will adil nnto his tr(>asnn' ! 

MY DRKAM. 

TO MACCli: . 

Tile tiillowiiifi is really a dieaiu versiiied, and was written t)y the author wlio 
was " a soldier in the army " — a few weeks prior to tJio fall of Uiehmond. 

(;)h ! Maiciiio, 'twas the other nii^ht, 

I dreamed tlu; sweetest, dearest dretmi ; 

it tilled ray yoiini; heart with delight, 
Aye, with o-ladness in extreme ! 

1 thonoht soft Peaee, with uolTlen wing-, 

llail spread abroad her magie wand, 
And tnrned sad Wiitter into Sring, 

And stayed War's ernel, ruthless haml. 

Xliat the ze])hyrs that gently steal 
This mystic vale of sorrow o'er, 
I'hat oft now fan a battle-field, 
And kiss a soldier in liis gore. 

No more stole o'er the battle-plain 
To sooth th' \vonnded and th' dying. 

To mitigate their anguish — ])ain — 
To sympathise by softly sighing. 

Ah, no ! they were the winds of Peace, 

Wafted freslt from heavenly boNvers, 
Sent by cherubim to increase 

The happiness I thouglit was ours. 



THK PAMI'HTJCr ADVKin Is Ki;. 63 

"l\vas morn, 1 thon^ht, and »So), so l)rij;lit. 
Smiled ou tlic liomo my ('hildh<)od knew, 

And oh ! ,it filled mc with delioht. 
For I was th(;ro — and so were* yon. 

Yes, you were there, and side by side. 

Were we pitting;- in th' oottaL!;e door, 
And, Maiiii'ie sweet, you ^vere my hride, 

And I was yours, forevermore. 

Your head reelininji; on mv l)reast, 

While sunbeams jilayin-j;; with thy hair. 
I faneied I with fervor ))i"(>ss'd 

A kiss uj>on those li]»s so tiiir. 

But, oh ! in l»endino- to repeat, 

Maogie, the ex(|uisite pleasure, 
I awake — and my dream, so s\veet, 

Has fled — witli all its treasure ! 

Upon the eh illy urounil 1 lie. 

With a single bkudvet round me ; 
My <tanoj>y the darkling sky, 

And bleak winds, alas! have found me. 

1 hear the eannou's sullen boom, 

See the picket's flash before me, 
And grim now mortars illume 

The firmament that's o'er me. 

Stern the present darkly looms 

Up before my saddened gaze, 
While to memory's darkened tombs, 

Go the dreams of other days. 



lO MAGGIE. 

May happiness around thee twine 

The fairest, brightest wreath of roses ; 
And may'st thou in thy life combine 

All of the joy that youth encloses. 
And when you leave this darkened sphere. 

And soar beyond the starry dome ; 
May amaranthine flowers fair, 

Crown thee in thy angel-home. 
/ 



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